Nick fell on his knees on the floor of his loft, the sound of the 
slamming door echoing.  He had barely made it home before the light.
	Frustration, anger, jealousy... Emotions washed wave after wave 
over him.  He knew much of his reaction was unreasonable, 
disproportionate, but he couldn't stop himself. 
	After all, Nicholas, she is a beautiful young woman.  It would be 
foolish to expect that no-one else would show interest in her...
	Hearing her tears through the wall and being unable to go to her 
hurt him more than he had ever dreamed possible.  The humiliation of 
standing out in the cold wind, the remains of his desire on his hands, 
and listening to that MAN comfort her...HIS Natalie...cut deep, very 
deep.  
	He still couldn't make himself leave, though.  He seemed beyond 
pride... or so he thought.  Until he overheard Marcus comforting her.
	"Shh... it's all right, it's all right."  the sound of HIM 
kissing her.  "You don't have to love me... you don't... I do understand, 
Natalie, I do."
	"I'm sorry, Marcus, I'm so sorry.  I shouldn't do this to you." 
She had whispered.
	"No, no, don't."  Another kiss, achingly loud. "You're my Maud 
Gonne, you know.  You have given me more than you'll ever know.  You 
don't have to love me, all you have to do is forgive me for loving you."
	"Food for poems..." she whispered softly.
	"And songs, and prose and art, and joy, and friendship.  Dear, 
dear one."  
	It was like a slap in the face, more than his ego could stand.  
He tore himself away from the window, not caring if they heard him.  He 
had flown incoherent with anger and wounded pride until the faint glow of 
dawn had driven him home.
	He knelt on the rug.  The shutters shut automatically with a 
hollow sound, leaving him in darkness.  In his emptiness and impotent 
fury the dark didnÆt soothe. 
	His Maud Gonne!  As if he could know!  Comparing himself to 
Yeats! His love to theirs!  As if he could know!  I saw it!
	Calling her his Muse, his well of inspiration.  It was heady, 
romantic, entirely worthy of her... and completely unforgivable.
	As if he could ever need her the way...
	A cold realization swept over him.
	The way I do...
	He lowered his forehead to the floor.
	He can never love her the way I do...
	He rolled onto his side.  
	I love her...Jesu, I love her...
	He covered his face with his hands.
	Why wasnÆt it me?
	The pain was ugly and ferocious.
	Because of what I am...
	He could still smell the remains of his spent lust on his hands.
	Because of me...
	He wept.
		
	He didnÆt know how long he lay there.  Finally, he dragged 
himself to his feet and went upstairs.  Shedding his clothes, he got in 
the shower.   Exhausted, he slumped in the corner and let the water run 
over him.
	YouÆve danced this dance before.  Has it ever ended in anything 
but tragedy?
	It hasnÆt been quite like this before...
	You mean no other woman has risked so much for your sake 
before...
	No, itÆs more than that...
	And been given such short shrift for her pains...
	Finally, he pushed himself up and began scrubbing furiously.  As 
if he could scrub away the truth about himself.  As if he could rip away 
the shame he felt.  
	Every time he closed his eyes he could see them again.
	She had been so beautiful.
	Had there been a time when he hadnÆt wanted her?  
	No.
	No matter who else had been; Alise, Janette, Anne, Emily, all the 
others... he had still wanted her, still returned to her side.  Had still 
been jealous of whoever she went out with, whoever saw her in the 
daylight.  Almost from the moment that they had first met.
	What was it that Marcus had said, You donÆt have to love me...
	She doesnÆt love him...
	Does it matter?  
	Yes, if she loves me, yes...
	Will it make you mortal?
	We could be together then...
	He closed his eyes and saw her again, astride Marcus, working 
toward climax.  She had been magnificent, passionate...more than he could 
ever have longed for.  What would she be like with him?  Would she be as 
wild, as unbound?  Or would she be shy, kind, guiding him gently into the 
light.  
	In the light...
	Make love to her in the sunlight...  On the rug downstairs, while 
light pours through all the windows.  Her hair would glow in the light... 
he remembered the time heÆd seen her in the sun, when the drug had gone 
wrong.  Her skin had been warm with color and her sapphire eyes had 
danced.  He would see her like that again.  He had too...
	HeÆd move slowly, savor every second.  HeÆd undress her with 
care, slipping each garment off to pool on the floor beside her.  Cover 
her skin with kisses, trace his tongue over her shoulders, her neck, her 
breasts as she stands naked and golden.  She would be a Venus of Light, 
he a pale acolyte.
	She could kiss him and he would taste of food, of wine, of 
arousal, without the hint of blood.  He would be warm to her touch.  He 
could stroke her hair and back and there would be no involuntary shiver 
from the chill of his hand.  She would move into his caress, sighing with 
pleasure, reaching to remove his clothes.  The warmth of her breath on 
his skin.  The heat of her tongue as it lashes across his hard nipples.  
Would she reach down and take him or tease him, tickling the hair on his 
belly?
	YouÆd want her to tease you...tell the truth now...
	Yes, Nick had to admit it.  HeÆd want her to tease him... trace 
her fingertips lightly across his belly,  tickle his flanks,  rub his 
thighs, brush past his pubic hair,  make him wait... give him time to 
grow harder... suck his nipples, nip at them, her breath would be hot and 
sweet...The sun would be warm on his back.
	The feel of her skin under his hands, the soft weight of her 
breasts.  It would be sweet, so sweet to him.   He would lay her on the 
rug, slip a pillow under her hips.  Suck and tease her nipples without 
fearing for her safety.  To smell her, to taste her, without the need to 
feed, to destroy.  Opening her legs and laying his mouth on her... 
Tasting her tangy wildness, breathing in her musk until she thrashes with 
orgasm and is liquid with longing.
	To have her touch him as he rises over her.  Stroking his aching 
cock, moving his foreskin, making him ready... ready to bury himself in 
her.  He would want to sink into her slowly, teasing her as she did him, 
take her an inch at time...her velvet soft vagina tight and welcome 
around him... pushing his self control to the edge...
	Thrusting into her... gently at first, then wildly... her fingers 
digging into his back, her legs tight around his thighs...hearing her cry 
out his name as she comes...kissing her hard when he comes, tight on her 
mouth with bruising force... holding her afterwards...telling her...I 
love you, all for you, only you.
	He opened his eyes, alone.  The shower was cold now.  Fresh come 
and blood spattered his thighs.  He rinsed it off with hands that shook. 
 HeÆd been so lost in the fantasy he couldnÆt remember touching himself. 
	Subdued, he went to bed.	
	
	It was night and he was hungry.  He was back in the park, close 
to where heÆd met Janette.   He looked around...had she called him back? 
 Changed her mind, perhaps?  Yet, it was different... the sky darker, the 
wind stronger, the chill off the water sinking deep into his skin.
	She wasnÆt there.
	There was only him, and the dark.
	Something was very wrong.
	ôGood evening, Nicholas.ö  
	ôLaCroix.ö  Nick swung around.  For a moment, Nick felt relief at 
the sight of a familiar face.  ôWhereÆs Janette?ö
	ôAt the Raven, I should think.  She isnÆt here.  IÆve been 
expecting you.ö LaCroix shimmered in the darkness.  A malevolent shade.
	ôYou called me here?ö  Nick was immediately apprehensive. ôWhy?ö
	ôI want to show you something.ö   LaCroix swung around and 
started walking.  He didnÆt look back to see if Nick was following. 
	Nick stared after the elder vampire, distrust and curiosity 
wrestling within.  Slowly, cautiously, he followed.
	ôA young girl came to the waterÆs edge tonight.  An interesting 
specimen.  SheÆs covered with self-inflicted cuts... some kind of middle 
class tragedy I should think... and sat reading poetry with a flashlight. 
 She wept.ö  LaCroix beautiful voice slid through the darkness.  ôOne of 
us is watching her... very patiently.ö
	ôOne of us?  No!  Why havenÆt you stopped it!ö  Nick seized 
Lucien by the arm.
	ôStop what, Nicholas?  ThereÆs nothing to stop...yet.  ThatÆs why 
I was waiting for you.ö  LaCroix extradited his arm with barely a 
movement.  ôIÆve brought you a gift, Nicholas.  Something that youÆve 
wanted for a very long time.ö
	LaCroix gracefully pointed to the waterÆs edge.
	The girl was young, a teenager, with dyed black hair and a pale, 
lost face.  Dark smudges of eye makeup hid her eyes, shuttered windows 
for a lost soul.  A torn CERK t-shirt clung to her thin frame, 
insufficient against the waters chill.  Scars from a hundred self 
inflicted cuts shone pale on her arms.  A book of Sylvia PlathÆs poems 
lay open in her lap, a resting place for the flashlight.  The light 
caught a razor blade clutched in fingertips decorated with chipped black 
nail varnish.  It hung, suspended, over one skinny wrist.  One shallow 
cut was already weeping blood.
	The smell of blood, death, and despair was thick in the air.
	Nick took a step towards her, and LaCroixÆs hands held him back. 
 ôWait.ö The elder vampire whispered.
	Then Nick remembered LaCroixÆs earlier words. æOne of us is 
watching her.Æ
	There was barely the sound of moving air as the female vampire 
moved out of the shadows.
	 A strangled cry of recognition escaped Nick.  ôNatalie...ö
	Where as Nick had always seen her before radiating with warmth 
and light, she now seemed colored with a thousand shades of darkness.  
Her beauty had not been lost with her transformation, only become more 
tactile, more sensual...more hungry.
	Natalie walked up to the girl slowly, as if the child were a wild 
animal she was afraid of frightening away.  Tears ran from the girlÆs 
eyes and the blade slipped from her fingers as Natalie reached out and 
touched her face.  
	ôYouÆre so alive, öNatalie whispered.
	ôNo...no...IÆm not...the pain...ö the girl whimpered.
	ôSo alive...ö  Natalie reached down and kissed the girl on the 
mouth, claiming her lips with sensual grace.  
	The girl kissed Natalie back, fingers digging into the vampireÆs 
shoulders with fierce desperation.  A drop of blood rolled down the 
girlÆs cut arm and fell between NatalieÆs breasts.  Bright red flowed 
across ivory and NatalieÆs skin drank it in.
	Natalie struck the girl with enough force to tear into her throat 
and pop her neck.  The sad child died instantly.  NatalieÆs lips closed 
over the wound and she drank deeply, feverently.
	ôSheÆs so beautiful when she kills. ItÆs a joy to watch her.  She 
seems drawn to the lost and the suffering, bringing the death that ends 
their pain.  The way they look at her with such fear, and such longing.  
ItÆs as if she is an angel as well as a devil to them.  It makes it all 
new again.ö  LaCroixÆs voice drifted back across the divide.  ôHavenÆt 
you missed it, Nicholas?  The swift rush of life and death?  The pure 
simplicity of our existence?  She can bring it back to you... She can 
make you feel at home with us.ö
	Natalie lifted her face from the girlÆs neck, lips shining with 
red.  She rocked the child tenderly in her arms, entranced, as if sending 
her to sleep.
	LaCroix was right.  It was beautiful and unholy.  The hunger rose 
in Nick with a rush of desire more intense than heÆd ever felt.  He took 
a step forward and all his struggling toward humanity fled.
	The girl slid gracefully through NatalieÆs arms like falling 
sand.  Natalie gently folded the girlÆs arms over her chest and closed 
her eyes.
	She turned to Nick.  Glowing eyes met glowing eyes.
	She was in his arms before he moved another step.  Her mouth was 
on his; the girlÆs warm, fresh blood a fitting communion for this 
joining.  
	With one kiss all the barriers inside him tore apart.  He tore 
her dress violently, the velvet heavy in his hands.   He licked the blood 
from between her breasts, hungry.  Her hands laid open his shirt and 
scratched his chest.  Leaning up, she nipped his earlobe. 
	Entwined, they fell to the ground.  He rolled on his back, 
pinning her to his chest.   His kisses were bruising, tongue lashing in 
her mouth.   Her fangs scratched his lips, she sucked greedily.
	Penetrating, and being penetrated... his cock deep inside her... 
her fangs buried deep in his throat....this is were he belonged... this 
is what he was... what she was meant to be... why they were brought 
together...
	LaCroix gathered up the dead girlÆs body and turned away.

	Nick woke up.
	He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and held his head in his 
hands.  He was clammy with blood sweat.  The nightmare was sharp, buried 
deep and refused to fade.
	All for the love of you...
	Darkness, light, would they give up both?
	Would he?
	All for the love of you...
	Natalie...
	Would I give it all up for you...
	The thought made him cold.  
	At this moment, right here, right now...yes, yes I 
would...forever...
forever... all for you...
	
	More sleep was impossible.  Nick toweled himself off and put on 
his robe.  Walking downstairs, he poured a glass and went to the piano.  
Aimlessly, he played the same series of notes over and over.  After a 
moment, he recognized what he was playing.  
With a rueful smile, he let the rest of the notes follow out.
	Could you turn me down gently would I
	be out of order
	If I declared my true feelings or do I 
	Act out the part,
	Of the father confessor of the shoulder to cry on.
	WeÆre always so close yet so far away.
	
	He sung softly, irony not withstanding.

	What would you do if I got down
	On my knees to you
	Would you hold it against me
	Would you stand me in line
	What would you do if I
	Opened my heart to you
	Would I just be another whoÆs wasting his time
	Darling, are we just good friends?

	LaCroix was right about one thing,  there is a song for all 
occasions.  She might not love him, after all.  She might have set that 
possibility aside long ago... It wasnÆt as if there was a future with 
him.
	And if she does love you?
	I should let her go...
	How noble of you... unless...
	Unless what?
	Unless itÆs too late...
	No.
	Can you face being alone once more?

	He should leave, disappear, give her a chance to have a life.  
She could marry, have children, rise in her profession without the fear 
of someone finding out about altered files, secrets, all she had done for 
him.
	Let her go...
	Yes...
	Like Janette?
	IÆve been here before havenÆt I...
	Once or twice...
	ThereÆs a song about that too...
	ThereÆs a song for everything...
	Could I...could I do it...
	
	The keys under his fingers were a comfort.  They sang randomly, 
until the melody was found...

	So here I am once more
	In the playground of the broken hearts
	One more experience, one more entry 
	In a diary of pain...
	Yet another emotional suicide
	overdosed on sentiment and pride...
	Too late to say I love you
	Too late to restage the play
	Abandoning the relics of my playground of yesterday...

	Stay, say nothing... go on being friends... bury his jealousy... 
rejoice in her happiness... give her up... let this young man win her 
heart... 
	Let her live without him.
	She would make a lovely bride...
	yes...
	
	He had thought of painting her that way, dressed in white, 
covered in lace.  Natalie as a bride.  Her wedding day...  Her chestnut 
hair would escape from under the veil.  Pearls...no, pearls were unlucky 
for a bride.  What was it?  YouÆll shed a tear for every pearl you wear 
on your wedding day?
	Perhaps, she would even wear a cross.  Be married in a church.  
Men in morning coats, flowers everywhere.  Pennies tossed in a fountain, 
to wish the couple a happy life.  A garter of satin and lace crocheted by 
a grandmother,  to kept forever by a lucky groomsman pressed in a book.  
 Bouquet tossed in the wind, caught and magic passed on.
	To leave with her beloved, as he stands in the shadows.
	Watch her go...

	And I will hold my peace forever 
	As you wear your bridal gown
	And the silence of my shame
	The mute that sang the silent song
	Has gone solo in the game
	Has gone solo, solo in the game	

	Can you still say you love me?
	This jesters tears...

	With an angry bang, he slammed the lid down.  
	He couldnÆt do it.
	He couldnÆt let her go.
	Not without her knowing.
	It was the most selfish choice of his life.  He knew that.  
	He walked over to the couch and laid down.  HeÆd didnÆt know what 
would happen.  He didnÆt know if she would agree to even try.  But... he 
couldnÆt lose it without it ever not having been said.  
	I love you, Nat...
	

	At five in the morning, Marcus kissed a sleeping Natalie goodbye. 
 He dressed happily, and without regrets.
	If this was all there was to be, it was beautiful and it was 
enough.  
	He shut the door to her flat quietly behind him and danced 
gracefully over to the bus stop.   Pulling a small notebook out of his 
pocket, Marcus wrote some random notes and checked to see what he had to 
do today.  The first pink shadows of dawn were coming up.  A fair-haired 
man in a dark coat and sunglasses bought a paper from the machine.  The 
bus pulled up with a loud snort.
	Marcus dropped two tokens in the slot and smiled at the man with 
the paper.  ôHave a seat, this oneÆs on me.ö
	ôYouÆre very kind,ö  LaCroix said softly.

	fini
	
The two songs were written by D.W. Dick; who sings under the name Fish.  
Just Good Friends- Fishy Music Ltd from the album Internal Exile
Script for a JesterÆs Tear - by Marillion / Charisma Music Pub. Co. Album 
of same name

W.B. Yeats Adoration for Maud Gonne, that most Facinating Woman, was 
Romantick thoÆ not entirly Healthy.  He Believed that because she first 
saw the Writer she could only Be Disappointed in the Mere Man, so he 
could not seek her favours for Himself, but that she would be the 
greatest Muse of Inspiration to Him.  

The Poem the Girl was reading in the Nightmare Sequence is Sylvia PlathÆs 
ôMedusaö.

Thank you for reading my little tale.
I hope it has pleasÆd and amusÆd.

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